


This is Definitely a Feelings Thing

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Get Together, M/M, mentions of other agents, this is probably an AU, where SHIELD is still what it was and Nick is Director
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7328272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“You.  Me.  Movie marathon.  Get all the snacks you can carry.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe Clint should have waited more than two seconds after Phil had answered the phone to say that, but that would have been less fun.  Phil should be used to it by now.  He was the one that had started all this by being nice to Clint and befriending him and shit.  Besides, they both had downtime after the adrenaline-filled adventure of their last mission and Natasha had totally abandoned him.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“You do realize I could already have plans for my day off, Barton?” Phil said in a dry voice.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Clint thought about it for a moment.  “Nah,” he said.  “So, snacks?”</em>
</p>
<p>It starts with an offer to watch movies with his friend and handler, but in the end Clint might just gain something else, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Definitely a Feelings Thing

“You.  Me.  Movie marathon.  Get all the snacks you can carry.”

Maybe Clint should have waited more than two seconds after Phil had answered the phone to say that, but that would have been less fun.  Phil should be used to it by now.  He was the one that had started all this by being _nice_ to Clint and befriending him and shit.  Besides, they both had downtime after the adrenaline-filled adventure of their last mission and Natasha had _totally abandoned him._  They’d made movie plans she had definitely agreed to last week, but she’d cancelled five minutes ago by deciding to join Sharon Carter for some sort of fiendish, arcane ritual at a spa.  Clint wasn’t entirely sure what went on at a spa, but it couldn’t be good.

“You do realize I could already have plans for my day off, Barton?” Phil said in a dry voice.

Clint thought about it for a moment.  “Nah,” he said.  “So, snacks?”

Phil huffed.  “I have a life outside SHIELD,” he insisted.  “I could be doing things.”

“Yeah, but Jasper’s in Barcelona eating all the tapas and sangria he can physically consume, and Melinda is in Hawaii with Andrew trying to work things out,” Clint pointed out, mentally ticking off his fingers.  “Nick and Maria are at that leadership thing on Fraser Island, which is sooo not a real thing, they’re on vacation I tell you, and Natasha is at the spa with Carter.  Seriously, who else are you going to be doing things with, Boss?”

There was a beat of silence.  “I don’t know whether to insist I could have other friends, or suddenly start worrying about being so predictable,” Phil muttered.

Grinning, Clint glanced around to figure out what street he was on exactly before turning around and heading back the way he’d come.  Phil loved the little donuts Clint got from that little hole-in-the-wall two blocks away, and a block over from that was one of Phil’s favourite coffee places.  If he arrived bearing food and caffeine, Phil was at least ninety percent less likely to kick him out.

(Okay, so that was a lie.  Phil _never_ kicked him out, but sometimes he did give a loud sigh and do this thing that he totally denied was pouting.  Donuts fixed that.)

“I could be having lunch with Pepper,” Phil said.  “I do that sometimes.”

“You do,” Clint agreed.  “Except it’s after three in the afternoon, so I’m pretty sure you’re not?”

“Fine,” Phil said, and he was trying to be grudging, but Clint didn’t miss the fond humour in his voice.  Six years of being Strike Team Delta, which was really six years of being Phil-Clint-Natasha, and Clint could read him like a book.  “What are we watching?”

“Well, I was going to make you sit through the joys of _Piranhaconda_ like you promised in Guatemala, but since I don’t want you to be a bastard and desecrate the pizza by ordering pineapple on it in retaliation, I was thinking about James Bond,” Clint said.  “We can mock his shitty spy skills and go Round 2 on whether Connery made the hottest Bond or not.”

Phil snorted.  “I keep telling you that Dalton was clearly the best,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint grumbled.  “Because he was closer to the Bond in the books, I remember.”

Spotting the donut place across the street, Clint tried to calculate how long it would take him to buy a billion snacks and make it over to Phil’s.  (He didn’t need to fetch any DVDs because Phil owned every Bond film ever made, the _nerd_.)  “Okay, I’m hanging up now before you launch into the bullet points again,” he said, because Phil _really_ liked to argue his point about Dalton.  Clint still wasn’t sure why.  If it was Craig, he might understand.  “I’ll see you in forty minutes and I’m bringing snacks, but don’t think that means you don’t immediately need to go out and buy twizzlers and mini-marshmallows.  Oh, and popcorn!”

“No, actually, I don’t,” Phil said.  His eye-rolling was practically audible over the phone, and behind that was the creak of Phil’s left kitchen cupboard door opening.  “Oh, look.  Barton’s secret snack chamber is still where I left it.”

Clint grinned because Phil was awesome and totally hadn’t thrown out the stash he’d hidden the last time he was over.  “Dude… _The Three Musketeers_!  That’s what we need to watch!”

“The BBC version is even better,” Phil replied.  “Just get your ass over here so we can argue about it in person.”

“You’re only saying that because my ass is droolworthy.  Agent Johnson said so,” Clint quipped, hanging up before Phil could respond with more than a choked laugh, because _seriously_ , Clint, have some dignity.

(This whole sappy, squishy feeling that lived in his chest was getting bad.  And it wasn’t just a crush, thank you, Natasha, but L-words were scary.)

Clint sighed.  He better buy Phil an extra chocolate donut or three just in case.

~*~

Forty-six minutes later, Clint was buzzing the door to get Phil to let him up.  He had a box of the special mini-donuts Phil loved (since Clint was trying to wean him off gas station donuts, because _gross_ , Phil), two large coffees, and half a candy store in a bag.  There was no such thing as too many twizzlers, seriously.  It was a little hard to juggle the door, but Clint managed and if it was a little less than graceful, well, Phil couldn’t see, now could he?

He managed to make it up the three flights of stairs to Phil’s actual apartment, and was just glancing down to make sure he hadn’t spilled anything on his henley when Phil’s front door opened.  Clint looked up because it was Phil, and then promptly tripped over his own feet.   _Holy pizza, Batman_.  Logically, Clint had known that Phil wouldn’t be in his suit because it was Phil’s day off, and Clint had seen Phil in a range of casual clothes.  In a variety of social settings, even.  Yet, somehow the sight always had Clint’s mouth running dry and his lungs forgetting to function for a few seconds.  Clint coughed, his breath wheezing.

Today, Phil was wearing jeans and a black, v-neck t-shirt which pulled _just right_ over his broad shoulders.  He must have been reading, because Phil was also wearing his black, thick-framed glasses, and he hadn’t shaved that morning, either, because there was stubble covering his cheeks and jaw.

It just wasn’t _fair_.

How was Clint supposed to pretend to be a fully functioning adult when Phil went about looking like that?

(Not that Clint didn’t appreciate the suits.  Or the way Phil would shrug off his jacket and roll up the sleeves of his shirt at the end of a long day, his tie tugged loose around his neck…  Okay.  So maybe Clint had a general Phil problem.  Could you blame him?)

“Are you just going to stand there all afternoon?” Phil asked, a smirk slowly curving his mouth as Clint just sort of… stared.

“No,” Clint said.  His voice was about ten times rougher than usual, but hey, at least it was English.

Phil stepped back to let Clint into his apartment, and it took Clint a few more seconds to persuade his legs to work again, but then his brain just went: _fuck it_.  Half of this was Phil’s fault because he could see Phil’s _chest hair_ peeking through the v-neck of his t-shirt, dammit.  Clint had the remaining sense to put the donuts and coffee down on Phil’s tiny hall table before he was turning around and crowding Phil back against his now-closed door.

“Barton?” Phil asked, his blue, blue eyes widening a little behind his glasses.

“Phil, you have about ten seconds to yell stop if you don’t want me to kiss you,” Clint warned, because he just couldn’t handle this anymore.  Maybe trying to ask Phil out to dinner would have been a little more traditional, but Clint had always preferred actions to words.

Phil smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.  “About time,” he said.  “I had a bet with Natasha that it was going to take you at least two movies to get up the nerve.”

Clint blinked.  “Wait, what?”

“I’ll explain later,” Phil said, grabbing a fistful of Clint’s shirt and dragging him forwards.

Resisting didn’t even enter Clint’s mind.  He stumbled a little when Phil let go of his shirt, his palms hitting the door either side of Phil’s head, and then Phil was kissing him.  Clint’s thoughts fizzled out as his stomach swooped, Phil’s lips warm and sure against his.  Clint shivered as Phil’s hand slid up to tangle in his hair, Phil’s other arm wrapping around Clint’s wait and pulling him in until they were pressed chest to chest.  Shifting even closer, Clint groaned as Phil deepened the kiss and Clint lost himself to the heat of it.

By the time Clint pulled back to breathe a little, Phil’s hand had migrated to sitting just above his ass and somehow both of Clint’s were underneath Phil’s t-shirt.  “Okay, that was…” Clint said, but then he was distracted by the way Phil’s glasses were crooked and his cheeks had flushed pink.  Even his hair was messy, which probably meant Clint had been running his fingers through it.  That was something Clint would do, but he kind of hoped next time his thoughts weren’t vapourized by the kissing so he could actually remember.

“Yeah,” Phil agreed.

“Right, so just to clarify, this is a feelings thing?” Clint said, because his heart was thumping against his ribs and his chest was so full of swirling emotions he was going to burst.  Or maybe just babble.  “Like, I’m pretty sure I have all the feelings and it would be great if you did, too?”

A warm, undeniably fond smile broke out across Phil’s face as his eyes danced with laughter.  “Yes, Clint,” he said softly.  “I have all the feelings, too.”

“Good.   _Great_ ,” Clint said.  “Okay, so new plan.  We’re going to drink coffee and eat the donuts I bought, and then we can pretend to watch Sean Connery blow shit up while we neck on the couch?  Sound good?”

Still smiling wide and bright, Phil reached up to cup Clint’s cheek as he darted in for another brief kiss.  “Sounds perfect,” he said.

 

End


End file.
